


Sound Crew

by Bibliotecaria_D



Series: Backstage [6]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Foot Fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-25
Updated: 2012-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-30 02:49:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibliotecaria_D/pseuds/Bibliotecaria_D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Be careful what you say, onstage and off.  The sound crew is listening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Soundwave (Coercion)

**Title:** Backstage: Sound Crew  
 **Warnings:** Silliness, and sensuality. A fetish, and reaction to it. Foul language.  
 **Rating:** PG-13?  
 **Continuity:** G1 (Backstage AU)  
 **Characters:** Soundwave, Cassetticons, Starscream, Skywarp, random civilians  
 **Disclaimer:** The theatre doesn’t own the script or actors, nor does it make a profit from the play.  
 **Motivation (Prompt):** _Coercion_

 

[* * * * *]  
The void of power left by sudden death had to be filled. On Earth, the Autobots -- and Stunticons -- waited in breathless anticipation. Who would be Air Commander?

The Decepticons -- except the Stunticons, of course -- waited in amused patience. They knew who the Air Commander was; Starscream was just temporarily indisposed. But, appearances had to be maintained. Megatron would use Starscream’s latest ‘death’ to his advantage, and it was his reaction that the rest of the Decepticons would base their own acts off of. Megatron led the Empire by example, after all. 

Mostly, the Supreme Commander’s example seemed to consist of laughing a lot. They were okay with that. Starscream’s after-action report had really been a no-action report. The Decepticons had received the news of an already-conquered planet with confusion, some amazement, and finally a kind of muted celebration. Victory for the Decepticon Empire! A totally unexpected victory, but victory nonetheless! 

_Civilian_ victory at that. That particular detail had left Megatron helpless with mirth, helm thrown back against the top of his command chair as he guffawed. Civilians didn’t get a lot of face time in the middle of war. To hear that a bunch of refugees from Cybertron had subjugated a whole world was surprising. Having the resources and cheerful servitude of that entire world suddenly at his disposal upped surprise into the realm of gleeful disbelief. The disgruntled voice of Skywarp in the background as Starscream reported all of this had just been the high grade cube in the midgrade energon. 

Megatron laughed for _hours_. Then he had Soundwave replay the report for the rest of the underwater base -- minus the Stunticons -- so they could hear Skywarp’s outrage and Starscream’s good news themselves. The Stunticons were confused but chalked up the spontaneous party in the halls to belated celebration of the Air Commander’s demise. 

Soundwave made sure that was all they thought. He spied on them with the same care he monitored the Earth Autobots. One suspicious action, even an out-of-character _word_ by the Decepticons could ruin Megatron’s master plan. If the Stunticons found out, they’d betray Megatron’s massive ploy. If Optimus Prime found out that the Decepticons were out conquering other worlds while Megatron played the megalomaniac tyrant here on Earth, the Earth Autobots would return to Cybertron. They’d fix their Earth-muddled cerebral circuits. They’d become unbearably lucky _and_ competent again. The Decepticon Empire would suffer a monumental headache again. 

Keeping the Stunticons and Autobots ignorant of the masquerade here on this dirtball planet required careful information control. That was Soundwave’s job. The communications specialist kept the Stunticons ignorant of the true Decepticon Empire, but it wasn’t always easy. The other Decepticons found the Stunticons’ craziness an annoyance and a bit alarming, but Soundwave had decided it to be an ongoing irritation. Crazy mechs were _unpredictable_ mechs. True, it made them a bit easier to control, but not enough to be reliable. The number of times he sent Breakdown scurrying back to his gestalt in a paranoid fit only just balanced against Rumble and Frenzy trying to keep tabs on Wildrider at all times. 

Also, the Constructicons filed complaint logs every time they had to deal with the car combiner team. Soundwave hated the Constructicons’ complaint logs. They’d somehow discovered his dislike of Earth languages and took turns submitting their logs in Japanese haiku. Verbally, if they’d been particularly frustrated by something the Stunticons pulled that day. It would make a lesser mech punch a fist through a console, but Soundwave was made of sterner stuff.

…okay, so the one and only time Soundwave had confronted the Constructicons over their irritating vice, they’d chosen to respond in a chorus of Swahili. That would have been bad enough, but Mixmaster had adopted a stutter-glitch that made listening to him an endurance test. Also, Bonecrusher had dropped his vocals intentionally out of tune. Soundwave had fled the repair bay. 

Now he just kept his head down and silently loathed the Stunticons. He’d hate the Constructicons, too, but lesson learned: trying to get the upper hand on mechs who knew your build inside and out was an exercise in torture. 

All of this had, somehow, led to a private meeting of the Decepticon officers on the underwater base’s command deck. They assembled slowly as Soundwave sat out of the way at a console, hooked into the base comm. net. It was his assigned duty to coordinate a complicated distraction of the Stunticons. His part in the distraction consisted of patiently listening to Rumble and Astrotrain complain. 

Today, Rumble played a total prank-happy idiot sweet-talking Motormaster into helping with a nasty little trip-up of a trap in the corridor outside of Astrotrain’s quarters. Astrotrain had -- on orders -- picked a fight with the temperamental Stunticon leader yesterday. Today, Astrotrain sat in his quarters waiting for his cue, pre-bitching at Soundwave over his part in the distraction. It consisted of a role that could be summed up by _Me Angry Victim Grrr-RAR Chase Stunticons Through Base Halls!!_

Everything seemed to be in place. Soundwave turned part of his attention to the actual meeting. Megatron presided over what officers could make it on short notice, since there were always those who pulled duty running Autobot interference. Scrapper had come on behalf of the Constructions, of course, and was quietly speaking with the warlord. Onslaught stood at attention, respectfully standing aside until called for; he represented the Combaticons. Shrapnel stood watchfully by him, just close enough to be clear he was there as one of the Combaticons’ probationary officers. He also was the Insecticons’s reprentative. Astrotrain had originally been scheduled to come as well, but he’d ended up taking Blitzwing’s place in the Stunticon-bait game.

The abrupt change came about because the other triple changer had run into Cosmos on re-entry. Let it never be said that Megatron couldn’t change plans on a moment’s notice. Blitzwing and Blast-Off were now up in orbit, loudly exchanging opinions on the latest Weapon Of Doom and Mass Destruction and Kicking Earth Puppies. It hadn’t actually been built yet, but Scrapper promised his team could whip up something sufficiently diabolical on short notice. The Autobots, according to what Laserbeak reported, were hanging off of every word from the two Decepticon shuttles. 

The fact that they thought _Cosmos_ , of all Autobots, was stealthy enough to _spy_ …urgh. That was just a sad indicator of the Autobots’ lack of mental health. Well, it took care of the weekend, in any case. Soundwave would update Shockwave after the meeting finished. Sometimes he thought the Decepticons needed a day planner for this slag. 

**Thursday:** promote temporary Air Commander. _”Yeah, Starscream’s dead. Uh-huh. No, really?”_  
 **Friday:** build Weapon of the Week. _”You’ll never defeat us, Prime!”_  
 **Saturday:** let Prime and his crazy Autobot team ‘defeat’ the evil Decepticons. Collect on Swindle’s newest round of Cliché One-Liner Bingo. _”Wow, what a surprise. Didn’t see that coming. Who else heard someone say, ‘That’s impossible’?”_   
**Sunday:** stick the Stunticons on clean-up duty while Ratbat and Swindle negotiate the latest oil purchase from Saudi Arabia. _”Evil Decepticons, oh no, eek, call Autobots for help, yadda yadda…you take cash only? Sure. What nation’s currency ya want that in?”_   
**Monday:** manufacture high grade from oil, just to keep everyone occupied. Bored Decepticon troops create their own fun. _”One cube for Cybertron, two cubes for meeee…”_  
 **Tuesday:** stick the Stunticons on clean-up duty after the inevitable party. Nurse hangovers and gather blackmail material. _”No wonder the table collapsed. The hula skirt obviously tipped the weight balance.”_  
 **Wednesday:** actually accomplish something. Send clandestine teams through the spacebridge while playing a rousing game of ‘Who’s A Traitor Today?’ back at the base to confuse any watching Autobots. _”Who went where? Spacebridge what? No, no, he didn’t go to Cybertron, he went to the repair bay!”_  
 **Thursday:** plan the weekend. Wash, rinse, repeat. _”Right. Who feels like kidnapping someone today?”_

“Do I **have** to?” Astrotrain whined for the last time over internal commlink before opening the door to his quarters. “I don’t care how much Humiliation Pay is, I still say it should be more than Hazard Pay. Pain doesn’t last as long as Drag Strip laughing his aft off.”

“Where are the other two parts of Reflector when you need him?” Rumble asked philosophically.

Soundwave tuned out the chaos of a Stunticon distraction going right and focused on the three remaining Decepticon Seekers on Earth. Dirge seemed twitchy. Ramjet had a fake smile plastered over his face like a good-luck charm. Thrust looked like Megatron had just brained him instead of promoted him.

“M-Me, sir?”

Megatron frowned thunderously. “Yes, you. I expect you to assume the duties of your new rank by the next duty shift. In everything but actual fact, you are to **be** the new Air Commander. Ransack Starscream’s quarters, change everything in his office, gloat over those two,” he gestured at the other two jets, who appeared to be paralyzed, “and pick two -- no,” Megatron paused to tap a thoughtful finger on his chin, “three new wings to transfer from Cybertron. Shockwave informs me that the Autobot resistance groups have been increasing their espionage attempts on the outposts on Cybertron. Yes…three wings of flyers, but start some kind of contest to determine which wings. Choose the wings beforehand, but I want a huge show of force and competition.” A scheming smile overcame his frown, and all the Decepticons present were suddenly reminded that this was their warlord. He was the Supreme Commander, who masterminded the invasion of worlds. Deceiving Autobots was second nature to him by now. “Blow something large up. In fact, start a minor war between the flight ranks and Shockwave’s ground troops. Why waste a perfectly good opportunity to distract Prime?”

Soundwave could think of several reasons, but most of them hinged on the fact that his workload had just tripled. It was bad enough that the Stunticons had to be kept ignorant while on Earth, but it was an information-editing nightmare when plans included Cybertron. The Autobots were a pain in the aft to keep track of, too, but at least he could delegate most of that to Shockwave’s Tower Control. 

“It’s been a while since we’ve done a Cybertron-based plan,” Scrapper put in. “We’ll have to drill the troops on basic training for ‘Raving Maniacs 101’.”

“They enjoy it,” Megatron said dismissively. 

It was true. The Decepticons on Cybertron enjoyed getting orders to rant and misbehave. 

There was one whole base that Starscream had ‘taken over’ during one epic fail of a plan (Take Over the Decepticons #210) that continually sent in requests to be used again. They’d apparently come up with a guaranteed way to look utterly insane for Autobot spies: they gathered in the common rooms and stared fixedly at a point in the wall. They didn’t speak, and they didn’t move. They just _stared_. It seemed harmless, but if extended in a straight line, all the points from all the common rooms intersected in the most heavily guarded room in the base. 

It hadn’t been heavily guarded until Autobot infiltrators started trying to break into said room, convinced the Decepticons were staring for a reason. Now the base averaged about one caught Autobot per month. They promised they could double that number with a new mindscrew of an act if their request went through. Maybe Air Commander Thrust should have a base of operations on Cybertron? Soundwave made a mental note of the idea as the meeting broke up into discussion of individual roles. 

Speaking of the newly promoted Air Commander: Thrust was heading toward Soundwave with the same kind of expression the Constructicons wore when they had a Stunticon complaint. 

Soundwave swung himself around in his chair to face the oncoming jet, bracing for whatever was coming. Technically, this Seeker now outranked him. He could give Soundwave orders entirely in _mime_ if he so wished. It’d be an improvement over the haikus, honestly.

Hands slammed down on either side of the chair back, hemming the Cassetticons master in, and Thrust leaned in. “Contact Starscream,” he growled in Soundwave’s face, and his optics were noticeably manic. The communications officer carefully didn’t react, but for some reason, Dirge and Ramjet seemed extremely relieved by their wingmate’s words. How odd. “I don’t care how. I don’t care if you have to encrypt it and send it to him using the U.S. Postal Service. **Contact him.** I need orders.” A slightly pained look crossed Thrust’s face; an ambitious, self-reliant Decepticon asking for orders. Ouch. “And for Primus’ sake, tell him that this wasn’t my idea.”

Ahhh. It seemed that the notorious promotion of Skywarp during the Bruticus debacle was coming back to haunt the Coneheads. Soundwave could use this. If Thrust didn’t want Starscream returning with every intention of utterly destroying his temporary replacement, then the Coneheads were going to owe him major favors. Time to set some terms -- 

Thrust was suddenly in his face, hissing directly into an audio receiver. “Soundwave? Just so you know: I can speak **Parisian French**.”

\-- ooooor not.


	2. Frenzy (Bewilderment)

**Motivation (Prompt):** _Bewilderment_

[* * * * *]

It started so stupidly, too.

Starscream died. Wasn’t that a laugh? But the Autobots were idiots enough to believe it, and Megatron grabbed that and ran with it. 

Someone had bribed Soundwave to mess with the recorded _‘Demise of Air Commander Starscream’_ file Shockwave sent from Cybertron; after some tinkering to reduce the background explosions, he’d played it back at three times the normal speed while Swindle passed out Buzzword Bingo cards to anyone who could stand upright long enough to play. The Decepticon Elite on Earth collapsed against walls and grabbed whoever was nearest, begging them for a punch to the face to sober up before the Stunticons started wondering why everyone was giggling over Megatron’s newest anti-Prime ploy. It took even more effort to cover how they collectively broke up laughing over the hiss-spit power-play fight brewing between Shockwave and newly-promoted Air Commander Thrust. It was a _laugh riot_. 

Starscream probably laughed hardest of all, red optics flinty with satisfaction as he gave orders to Thrust from worlds away. The air ranks had learned that lesson well, it seemed. Thrust had his own ideas, but none of the Coneheads were dumb enough to cross the true Decepticon Air Commander again. Thrust requested orders for _everything_ and used his own initiative sparingly at best. He had a better chance of surviving Starscream’s inevitable return that way.

On Soundwave’s suggestion, Thrust had relocated to a heavily-fortified outpost on Cybertron. Officially, he cited a need to test the Decepticon wings for new additions to the Elite ranks. However, to all appearances the new Air Commander was establishing a power base and vying for control of entire sectors with Shockwave. Every few hours he called up Shockwave’s Tower to have a screaming fight over mundane things with the one-opticked loyalist. The infighting was a hugely distracting move that had the Earth-bound Autobots’ unwavering attention.

Frenzy had witnessed one such distraction -- um, ‘fight.’ Thrust had borrowed one of Soundwave’s audio props from Earth -- something called a ‘megaphone’ -- and sat at the comm. console yelling at Shockwave through it. The acoustic warping had been amazingly horrible to hear, distorting even a normal discussion two officers into what sounded like a froth-at-the-mouth argument. It had even taken Frenzy -- who was standing right there watching, for Primus’ sake! -- a good long while to figure out that Shockwave and Thrust were talking about patrol schedules. It guaranteed that whatever garbled form of the transmissions the Autobots managed to intercept would establish Thrust as an absolute, irrational, mech-gone-mad-with-power maniac.

The Decepticon soldiers at Thrust’s ‘base’ outpost were helping that impression along with gleeful ingenuity. Frenzy hadn’t been there long enough to actually see them in action, but they’d evacuated the base twice to run laps around the outpost. They spent their free time staring at specific points on the walls in the common rooms and had taken to doing elaborate aerial maneuvers in the deepest underground storage bays. Even to those who knew what was going on, they seemed insane.

Frenzy had been sent to that outpost to advise the local experts on new traps for catching infiltrators. By the time they’d finished testing the upgraded outpost defenses, he’d been convinced the Decepticons there were the craziest bunch of lunatics he’d ever worked with. Crazy like turbo-foxes. He passed on a recommendation to Shockwave for secondary rank promotion for one particular lunatic who took a true artist’s care in planning the Autobot traps. That was the kind of attention to detail Shockwave could use around his Tower. Protecting the spacebridge and the invasion plans from discovery was a major priority.

But it’d all been funny. So stupid it was funny, really, which most of the plans that involved Earth seemed to be. 

Then Soundwave had sent his Cassetticons to Pentayear to organize the annexation of the planet into the Decepticon Empire, and things stopped being so funny. A civilian conquest had been kind of awesome. Even if civilians themselves seemed wimpy to Frenzy, he had to admire a conquest done with an overall gain in profit and resources. The world market was peaceful, thriving, and wide open to outside trade. The planet was proof positive to all the universe that Decepticon rule would improve overall standards of living. Megatron was in the midst of conquering the universe -- and improving it. _Peace through tyranny._

Autobot propaganda couldn’t stand up in the face of meticulous records kept by the historians, archivists, engineers, and scientists. They’d detailed every step of the way as they brought the planet’s primitive civilization up to the rather impressive level it was at now. Sure, the natives lived in slavery, but the vast difference between treatment of a resisting population and cooperative one had even Thundercracker, notoriously reluctant to cooperate with Megatron’s policies, nodding in agreement. 

Final opinion from the ranks seemed to be that civilians needed to be included on all the invasion missions from now on. Brigade commanders had been sending in requests for ‘civilian backup’ ever since Starscream’s first report was broadcast. Something about the situation fired up the Decepticons as a whole; it’d renewed faith in Megatron’s rule and restored vigor to warriors who had been merely standing guard on Cybertron for 4 million years. The eager faces uplifted to Starscream’s presence as he’d led troops into the city in parade formation had surpassed satisfaction and lit inspiration. It reignited a fever pitch of belief in all Decepticons. The natives weren’t Cybertronians, but Decepticon servants cheering on their personal warrior heroes were worth acquiring and protecting. Frag, it was practically a dream come true.

The Autobots thought the Decepticons to be murderers and thieves, delighting in slaughter and destruction. That was true to a point. But even though Frenzy wouldn’t hesitate to kill one of the little technorganic natives on Pentayear, they’d never give him a reason to. In return, it never entered his mind to mindlessly massacre part of the Decepticon Empire’s support structure. 

Those native were slaves, but that made them _structure_. Any grunt knew the importance of structure. It was important as energon supplies and the repair bay to soldiers who relied on that faceless, necessary support behind their ranks to keep them supplied, comfortable, and in fighting shape. Besides, they were something to conquer _for_. Only drones fought on orders. Decepticons, real Cybertronians all, needed something to believe in. Personal enjoyment of battle wore thin quickly, but Megatron had started a war because they _followed_ him. To have a whole world as proof positive that his words rang true, a realized vision painted in a vivid, conquered reality…

The Insecticons had shut the Combaticons in a room with all the footage and records sent back by Starscream. Onslaught had come out of that room looking like someone had sliced his thoughts open at the source. Kickback had stood outside the room waiting, the very image of a Decepticon probationary office grinding the edge razor-keen on a very valid point: _This is what you rebelled against._ He’d cocked his head up at the Combaticon leader, making no mention of rehabilitation or reprogramming or any of the threats looming over the combiner team because the facts alone were scrambling Onslaught’s mind enough. 

Onslaught had stared back, speechless in the face of overwhelming proof of a system that worked. _Megatron’s_ system. And, because of his own actions, Onslaught’s place in this successful Empire was that of a prisoner out on probation. That kind of humiliation burned lessons in better than any lecture or beating. 

The other Combaticons had come out of that room subdued as well, point made, but Swindle had been bended knee joints away from begging to be included on the annexation mission. The pure light of greed shone in his optics like a believer facing his god. That had been hilarious. Frenzy had happily set terms and conditions and requirements until he’d wound Swindle up into a twitching, squirming trader kept from a wide-open, brand spanking new market with not a single military acquisition officer in place. Then Soundwave had revealed some new information that just happened to show some teasers of what kind of technology shiploads of Cybertronian civilians could invent while stranded off-planet for 4 million years. Squirming had degenerated into pathetic little whimpers when Swindle saw that. 

Between comm. officer and Cassetticon, they’d toyed with the Combaticon until he broke into gibbering promises of whatever they wanted, _just please please pleeeeeeease get me in contact with whoever gets put in charge of acquisitions pretty pretty please with credits on top?_

Stupidly funny, that. Frenzy had left Earth content, assured that he’d have anything he wanted handed to him by an ecstatic Swindle when he returned with that contact information. 

Then came the first glimpse of Pentayear, and Frenzy had snapped into a much more serious frame of mind. 

Yeah, he’d joked and strained not to show it, but, oh, he’d been shivering under the cover of mocking Ratbat. The atmosphere on Pentayear required air filter modifications on the teams sent through the spacebridge from Cybertron, but the civilians had come up with a solution to that long ago. It was part of the advanced tech Soundwave had taunted Swindle with. The civvies had modified their alternate modes until external filter systems dealt the heavy metals. The filters were so efficient, in fact, that their bodies actually absorbed and used the excess elements. 

Starscream had quickly adopted that solution, mandating new alternate modes for his air ranks. Frenzy had seen the specs for those alternate modes already, but what he hadn’t seen was what the flyers looked like in their root modes now. The wings looked fairly similar as before, and on the outside, the air intakes on the flyers’ torsos and shoulders appeared mostly the same. All that new tech and those new alt-modifications slotted ever-so-sleekly into place, and Frenzy hadn’t been prepared. For all that they looked the same, they were _different._

The difference slicked down their legs. It lined their thighs and tucking neatly into knee joints, then flaring bell-shaped and _heavy_ under their knees. Their thrusters were wrapped in layers of complicated mechanisms that clicked open and shut depending on atmosphere composition, creating a solid shell of armor that constricted and expanded. It was constantly-moving but never vulnerable. Even when the flyers stood still, their feet writhed with flashes of moving gears and panels. It was an intricate system that would never survive combat, making it unique to this world alone.

It was fragging _gorgeous_. 

Frenzy dragged his jaw off the ground with difficulty. He didn’t understand the new design, could only speculate on what the glimpses of spiraling thrusters and hidden gauges could do, and his bewilderment totally floored him. He’d never been so turned on in his life, and he did not. Know. _Why._


	3. Pentayear (Has the Technology)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ayo, I'm tired using technology, why don't you sit down on top of me  
> Ayo, I'm tired using technology, I need you right in front of me"

**Motivation (Prompt):** _“Milow Ayo – Technology”_

[* * * * *]

The “Welcome to Pentayear, Slaggers!” party the civilians threw had been an open-armed welcome to Megatron’s forces, starting the political machinations with good-natured intentions of power-grabbing. These were, as no one ever forgot, _Decepticon_ civilians.

Starscream’s troops had gone into it with open optics, knowing exactly what they were getting into even as they got overcharged and found themselves being talked to by persuasively manipulative civilians. Officers and soldiers alike were pounced. The party had never really ended. It extended through the long planetary days as the refugee conquerors came from all corners of the world to celebrate and get their hands back into Cybertron by putting them all over the troops. Amused and disposed to be generous with attention and information, the guests of honor hadn’t needed Starscream’s orders to mingle peacefully with the civvies. 

The arrival of the annexation mission group from Cybertron had been greeted by raised hands and shouted invitations to join the party. 

Ratbat had come along to begin integration of the planet’s resources into the war effort. Frenzy had come to deliver orders from Megatron and receive orders from Starscream for delivery to Thrust. Ravage disappeared from the mission the moment the spacebridge opened, vanishing like the spy he was to gather information behind the scenes. The other Decepticons were all from Shockwave’s control team, all sent with specific purposes and agenda. 

That was temporarily derailed in the name of ‘cooperation with local authorities.’ That it just so happened that those authorities insisted on partying before business was just an odd coincidence. 

So the locals and the soldiers milled about the city, catching up on Cybertron, the war, and the universe in general. They benevolently ignored the natives, who flocked to serve the newly-arrived rulers. More Decepticons to serve! New and rewarding duties to be assigned! _What joy!_

Frenzy acquired a covey of adoring natives just by existing; they’d never such a short master, and finding ways to adapt their world to his needs was the most exciting thing they could imagine. He’d had to adjust to not having to fetch more energon -- or a chair, or an armrest, or ask for directions, or look for a person -- on his own. It was the kind of adjustment he could get used to making. It was a little unnerving at first, after so long on Earth, but hey, Frenzy was a tough mech. He’d adapt to being waited on hand and foot.

It did leave him with too much time to ogle, however. Frenzy had always…admired…a well-turned foot. Rumble tended to like the back of the knee where the thigh tapered to the joint, and frag yes, the temptation to grope that area was always present, but Frenzy had a thing for feet. A grounder’s wheels could rouse his interest if they were positioned right, and the frictionless gliders hovercraft altmodes favored tricked his systems _out_. Ages of standing at Soundwave’s side had spread an endless vista of feet passing before him, and for preference, Frenzy definitely liked the flyers best. 

The rare times Soundwave accompanied Starscream on an inspection of the rank and file sent Frenzy into a tizzy. All those thrusters lined up in perfect lines, and everyone else’s attention was up on wings and faces while Frenzy browsed like a gourmet sitting down to a chef’s best fare. The variety of propulsion methods clapped onto feet fascinated him, but he drooled the most over the high-heeled style. Rumble agreed, head bent toward him as they dissected a tasty Seeker from the waist down with their optics. They’d decided that putting the weight forward on the front of the foot changed the angle of the knees and thighs. 

Personally, Frenzy liked the view from below more. He enjoyed looking up at the empty black circles like a cannon barrels as the flyers cut their engines to land on feet that smoked with burnt fuel and potential. He’d spent so long fantasizing over those feet that he’d worn the purring lust off his dreams.

Or so he’d thought. 

Now he was on a planet with new varieties on old themes, and the glutted gourmand faced a dessert of exquisite proportions. Not so jaded now, Frenzy lurched through the party. He ached from the sheer, close, almost-able-to-touch presence of so many pretty, pretty feet. It was almost funny, trying so hard his internal tape crackled alarmingly to not outright stare at all the beautiful feet. They were right on eye level with him. He wanted to reach out and grab hold, but no. No, no, and no. He had a mission. He had dignity.

He found Starscream and delivered both orders and requests. He reeled away from that encounter feeling punch-drunk and trying desperately not to show it. Starscream presided over a minor cult to his handsomeness already, and Frenzy and Rumble had been clandestine members of that Cybertronian sect already. With the new alternate mode, Frenzy had to fight off the urge to build a devotee shrine at the Air Commander’s feet. There was handsome, there was lovely, and then there was just _yum_. Starscream? _Rowr._

Mission completed, Frenzy went in search of dignity. He needed either Ravage or Ratbat, because quite obviously he needed adult supervision. 

The fact that Ratbat had perched on Thundercracker’s arm nearly undid Frenzy completely. The blue Seeker sat relaxed in a chair discussing some finer point of supplies with the technimal Cassetticon. The party whirled on around them, and beside them, Skywarp sprawled with both feet up on a third chair. 

_Guh._

The universe had it out for Frenzy. That was only explanation for this torture. 

Things only got more ludicrous from that point, as Skywarp apparently had his feet up because he’d suffered a minor thruster malfunction. He kept cycling the vents open and closed, and Frenzy couldn’t even pretend he wasn’t watching. That was just…oh, c’mon. Somewhere out there, Primus was laughing at him. 

“What?” the purple-and-black Seeker demanded lazily. The party was too nice to get worked up over anything, even a Cassetticon staring at his feet as if he’d seen a miracle. 

Frenzy tore his optics upward, but they immediately slipped down again with an almost audible click. “Just…never seen the design before. What do the, um, fiddly bits do?” One hand extended dangerously close to the moving parts fanning gently apart as the thrusters spiraled in and out. Skywarp snapped everything in tight and close just to see him jump and grab that venturing hand in again. “Looks fragile,” Frenzy got out, optics still locked.

Skywarp looked at his own feet, considering them. “Yeah, I guess.” They were very shiny, that was for sure, and lots of working parts whirring every which way. He could see why the Cassetticon was staring at them. The little sneak was probably thinking about what kind of damage he could do to all the entwined parts. “I dunno what those part do,” the jet confessed easily. “I’m no repair mech. All I know is that,” he stabbed a finger at his feet accusingly, feeling betrayed by his lack of flight capability, “don’t work.” Thundercracker snorted, and Skywarp turned pathetic optics on him. “I’m on the **wounded list** ,” he wailed, intentionally playing it up. “The civvies hurt me!”

“Starscream’s an evil glitch,” Thundercracker explained when both Cassetticons looked to him incredulously. “Skywarp’s going down as the only Decepticon casualty for the whole mission. Non-fatal, clearly.”

“So not fair,” Skywarp muttered. Frenzy’s optics had drifted back to his feet, and the hand ventured out again. Skywarp kept half an optic on it, wondering if the Cassetticon would really sabotage him right here, right now.

“Excuse me,” a pleasantly light voice interrupted the miniature drama. “I believe you’ve been waiting for me?” 

Skywarp looked up at the civilian and scowled. “ **Finally.** Fix me!” Thundercracker’s unoccupied arm clunked him upside the helm, and Skywarp sat up in a hurry. “Hey!”

“Behave,” the blue Seeker said sternly, and Skywarp opened his mouth to retort -- and shut it again. The really annoying thing about civilians was that the command structure got all kinds of screwed up around them. Technically, in a military society like the Decepticons, an Elite officer outranked most civilians. But, again technically, Pentayear was not yet officially absorbed into the Decepticon Empire. That meant that Skywarp was a _guest_. He might not be the greatest mind in the Decepticons, but even Skywarp knew that guests behaved and didn’t threaten their hosts. It was rude.

Even if he wasn’t a guest, Decepticon soldiers didn’t threaten Decepticon civilians. That was just asking for trouble. Might didn’t make right against unarmed civvies. 

Er…especially not unarmed civvies who were intelligent enough to design the very nice, if currently malfunctioning, altmode that he, Skywarp, currently sported.

The civilian -- Head Engineer McI’m _Way_ SmarterThanYou or something along that line -- grinned as Skywarp suddenly sat up straighter. “I take it you recognize me now.” Something deeply menacing shone briefly in his mild red optics, and they were all abruptly reminded that the civilians on this world were Decepticons. Thundercracker stiffened in his seat, and Ratbat regarded the civilian with interest. “Now, behave or I won’t fix you,” Head Engineer GrrScaryAsFreakin’ _Megatron_ requested quite politely, and Skywarp hoped he didn’t hold grudges. 

“Excuse me,” the civvie said to Frenzy, stepping in front of the Cassetticon. He lifted the Skywarp’s feet and settled into the chair, letting the thrusters sit in his lap as he pulled out an array of delicate tools and started in immediately.

Frenzy took one step back out of the way, then three forward. His optics were glued to the fantastically tantalizing sight spread in front of him as the jet’s lower legs butterflied open under the civilian’s sure touch. Outrageously complex systems loosened, gears untwisting until everything was visible: joints and ignition switches and cabling exposed to the whole wide world. The Cassetticon thought he’d been aroused before, but lust dragged fingers of heat down his internals until his systems fired false error messages. He trembled finely, holding onto the appearance of merely normal interest with joint-popping effort.

Skywarp sat there, stripped naked to the room at large, and didn’t dare to move. The rest of the party didn’t pause or care, and even Thundercracker had turned back to his discussion, but that didn’t change the fact that this mech had his armor _wide open_ in _public._ The knowledge that this wasn’t a repair bay, this was out in public where anyone could see, pulsed in Skywarp’s chest like a living thing kneading claws of sickly pleasure in and out of his spark. The disturbing sensation of his thrusters responding to someone else’s control crept up his legs, sensitizing every movement into a ricochet of sensation fluttering from foot to midsection. It coiled around his already excited spark and skipped through his fuel pump, and his air intakes hitched audibly. 

The civvie -- Head Engineer DearPrimusDon’t _Stop_ \-- tilted a knowing smile at him. The smile slid back behind a professional mask, and the mech turned to ever-so-politely engage Frenzy in conversation. The Cassetticon was observing the repair job, and Skywarp thanked his lucky stars that it was boredom, not interest, on Frenzy’s face. The dull look deepened into glazed optics when the civvie launched into a detailed explanation of how the thruster design worked. Skywarp didn’t know what he’d have done if Frenzy was enjoying this.

Frenzy could see it all: the strain crossing the Seeker’s face, and the entertained expression behind the civilian’s calm mask as gentle fingers caressed wires with professional care. The situation was so stupid that it wasn’t funny at all, and Frenzy had to get away. He had to, because he wanted inside Skywarp’s jigsaw-puzzle legs like nothing else. His fingers twitched to grip the thrusters, scrape down the spiraling grooves to the bottom until he could breathe first-hand that smokeless cordite smell of burnt fuel and hold spent fire in his hands.

The problem being that he couldn’t step back without his legs giving out. 

Into that hysterically funny realization dropped a received message notice, blipping on in the corner of his vision, and nothing could make Frenzy feel any stupider than that kind of normal in his bizarre life right now.


	4. Ratbat (Betrayal)

**Motivation (Prompt):** _Scenario - the moment of betrayal_

[* * * * *]

The message blipped in the corner of his visor. Most of his attention still panted over the breathtaking sweep of Skywarp’s thrusters in the civilian’s engineer’s hands, but Frenzy absently accessed it. A short video popped up, playing from an angle he was familiar with through long partnership. Ratbat had sent him something recorded earlier that day.

Frenzy pried enough of his attention away to watch it.

_”Yeah, this is Ratbat. He’s a pain in the aft, so feel free to ignore him.” The small Decepticon Cassetticon smirked up at the civilian leader of the Decepticon colony, and the other Decepticons all snorted in amusement. The soldiers knew better than to put any stock in Frenzy’s off-handed snark; Ratbat’s orders **were** often a pain, but they carried a lot of weight. The civilians had been out of touch with Cybertron’s war-time bureaucratic structure for 4 million years, however. They had no idea of Ratbat’s real authority. Frenzy had just tainted their first impression of an already size-disadvantaged officer._

Ratbat hadn’t shown it at the time, but Frenzy had known his technimal Cassetticon pal was going to make him pay for that comment. He’d gone too far. Ratbat was…not pleased. That was a thing to fear. Frenzy just hadn’t thought to guard against vengeance in the middle of a party, of all places. 

The overall feel of the video clip seeped ominous and too fast for comfort into Frenzy’s thoughts: _not forgotten, not forgiven._

A little voice squeaked up as the engineer apologized to the two Seekers and two Cassetticons for going into such depth on the new thruster ignition points. “Oh, don’t stop on our account,” Ratbat dismissed the apology. “Didn’t you know? Frenzy very much… **enjoys**...feet.”

The words seemed to slow time, deepening the tiny Cassetticon’s voice with sinister undertones despite the conversational way he spoke. Just the voice was a shock, enough to catch everyone’s attention. Ratbat never spoke. The smallest of Soundwave’s Cassetticons had long been concerned with energy efficiency above all else, adopting his job of fuel auditor as a lifestyle. Speaking was inefficient when brief noises and databursts sent comm.-to-comm. could convey just as much information. Speaking words aloud just invited further conversation, and that was a waste of time and words he wouldn’t condone.

However, what many a foolish mech forgot was that Ratbat was a Decepticon warrior. His devotion to the cause often manifested in ruthless efficient bureaucracy. That was something that seemed inane to the units and outposts he audited but came back lauded in commendation from Shockwave and Megatron himself when the final reports tallied. When he chose -- or when he had no choice, as even Soundwave occasionally spited his wishes and sent him into battle against the Autobots -- Ratbat applied his brutal mathematics to war. 

Only Decepticons outside the Elite dared called him a coward for his fighting style. The Elite Decepticons knew better. They recognized his hovering form high above them or flitting in their shadows as they fought. He was a patient observer waiting for the ideal moment. And when that moment arrived, they’d grin in vicious applause as precisely targeted weapons utterly destroyed their enemies. Ratbat’s Cassetticon form had no room for excess weaponry, but when he chose to use it, precision strikes eliminated instead of injured. 

Words, on or off the battlefield, were weapons, too. When he chose to use them, Ratbat fired them off in fearsomely accurate volleys that stripped his targets of bluster, slipped past raised defenses, and hit with the power of an explosion. The timing had to be flawless, but Ratbat excelled at waiting for the perfect time. 

Frenzy stared at him, optic band wide. Disbelief froze the Cassetticon in place, unable to process the magnitude of betrayal. Skywarp, Thundercracker, and the nameless civilian seemed caught in that perfect, timeless moment as the words sunk in, and Frenzy couldn’t stop them from hearing. The simple, casual words seized Frenzy’s fuel pump in a panicked vice and _squeezed_. There wasn’t enough time to retaliate. There wasn’t a way to take the words back, or cast doubt on Ratbat’s tidbit of information. Because that’s what Ratbat did, doling out information and orders in beautifully impassive packets that disregarded the actual lives impacted by his emotionless equations. 

Except when he wanted that impact, of course. Then he measured the impact to the exact pressure and damage needed to fit the situation. In this case, Frenzy had no time to retreat, no place to retreat to, and no way to run damage control on the simple words that ruined his reputation on Earth, Cybertron, and this new planet as well. Oh, the words soared gloriously through the air. They sank into the larger Decepticons almost visibly while Frenzy’s hands clutched helplessly on thin, empty air. Disbelief broke open, cold denial evaporating agonizingly as the shock splashed, and embarrassment bloomed hot and fast over his face. Involuntary reaction, impossible to conceal, and it was all the evidence the three larger Decepticons needed to confirm the facts as the words processed. 

Ratbat flipped his wings into neat folds, smug payback and cool disdain in one self-contained motion.


	5. Frenzy (Caught)

**Motivation (Prompt):** _Scenario - getting discovered doing something truly embarrassing_

 

[* * * * *]

 

Ratbat settled back, hanging motionless from Thundercracker’s forearm. The jet had half-raised his arm from the chair’s armrest when the little technimal spoke, but disbelief had frozen the motion in midair. Now the Cassetticon hung at an odd angle with the peaceful stillness of someone who had well and truly gotten his revenge. It took no energy to send out vibes of smug victory. 

Losing took a lot of energy. Actually, it pretty much sucked energy out of its victim and flared it out to catch as much attention as possible. Embarrassment stood out from Frenzy like a geothermal event. Hook a power converter up to him and the jagged waves of shame flaring in his aura could produce energon cubes. His notorious temper squashed under the weight of panic, and shame brought his hands up defensively instead of angrily.

“I -- I -- wait, i-it’s not what you think!” Skywarp’s jaw had dropped when Ratbat’s tidbit of information hit home, and Frenzy’s empty palms waved as if he could push the jet’s mouth shut. As if things could smooth over just like that. Frenzy reached for calm and got a surging torrent of fear. “I’m not -- I mean, he’s just -- I wouldn’t -- c-couldn’t -- hold on, hold on, don’t look at me like I -- “ 

His imagination obligingly produced sixty different scenarios of how his humiliation would spread through the Decepticon ranks. A Cassetticon with a foot fetish. It’d hand the world of larger ‘bots a surefire key to tormenting him daily. All it would take is a subtle twist of the heel as he passed, and the lowest-ranked soldier could hold his deepest secret over his head for the world to see. 

Thundercracker’s optics were wide and bright red with surprise, flicking between Ratbat and Frenzy uneasily. The technimal rested, completely at ease. Frenzy all but writhed in agonized contrast, almost tripping as he hastily backed away from Skywarp’s open thrusters as if suddenly realizing how thoroughly his avid watching had given his interest away. Thundercracker tucked his own feet back around behind the base of his chair. Not that the small Cassetticon could do anything to him, but something about _feet_ turning the little mech’s engines left Thundercracker cold. It just didn’t make sense. At least, not to Thundercracker, and not understanding something gave him an aversion to it. 

Ratbat obviously got what made his fellow Cassetticon tick, however, as Frenzy’s squirming had degenerated quickly. That particular pleading whine had an involuntary sound to it, sort of like Starscream when he stared down Megatron’s fusion cannon. “C’mon, Skywarp! I’d never laid a finger on you!” 

It obviously hit Frenzy exactly how wrong that sounded at the same time it occurred to Thundercracker, because the blue jet recoiled hard enough to knock Ratbat’s head against the chair while the technimal broke his smug silence enough to interject a chortle into the horrified pause. Frenzy’s defensiveness kicked up a notch, but his commlink clicked on ferociously:

_*”You dirty slagger! Frag you sideways with a Roto-Rooter! I’ll saw your wings off with a dull spoon and **feed** them to you when I catch you! Filthy flying sack of waste! Pigeon-fucking, duck-waddling ball of Insecticon smelt! I’ll -- I’ll **get** you for this!”*_

Ratbat didn’t even bother replying. 

“W-wait, that’s not -- I didn’t mean -- it’s not that I don’t _want_ to -- no, no wait -- oh, frag me.” Frenzy’s hands trembled a bit as he held them out in helpless appeal. Conflicting emotions tore at his self-control, and deep in his spark was a filtered poke of outside alarm as Rumble picked up on his twin’s panic. 

Even more distant, a background hum of concern rose in the back of his mind. Soundwave couldn’t sense his spark like Rumble, but evidently the communication officer was close enough to see Rumble’s reflected distress. Neither could contact him via the comm. network with him here on Pentayear, but they both were trying to check on him. That only magnified his own ricocheting state of mind. 

Thundercracker was staring at him with some form of disgust painted across his face, and that was a bad sign. Thundercracker was the tolerant one of his trine. Skywarp still seemed sunk in shock. Any moment now, the more volatile black-and-purple Seeker was going to lash out with the loud-mouthed reactionary hate characteristic of Skywarp encountering anything he didn’t get. Skywarp would publically air the whole issue, pummel Frenzy’s pride to tiny, itty-bitty pieces, and then the whole slagging party would know. 

He could kiss his dignity goodbye. A foot fetish? When it came to perversions, unless most of the galaxy _had it_ , most ‘bots typically didn’t _get it._ Things people didn’t understand made for wonderful gossip, and a great big representative slice of Decepticon civilians and soldiers were present -- just in this building alone! - -to not get it and then talk about it at length with everyone they met for the next eternity.

Frenzy was screwed like a Phillip’s screwdriver up the aft. Only more spectacularly. A screwdriver with fireworks spelling out _’Freak with an unnatural lust for your feet! Feel free to point and laugh!’_

Oh, Ratbat was good. 

Frenzy was going to kill him. 

If, that is, he didn’t die of embarrassment first. The way his own foot kept lodging itself in his mouth, it wasn’t surprising that he had a fetish for other mechs’. Even as Frenzy sputtered and apologized and corrected and basically dug a nice deep hole for himself, a nagging thought kept wondering how the inside of Skywarp’s thruster might taste. He really wanted to find out. Would there be the tingle of leftover ionization in the air inside, or maybe a smoky aftertaste on the metal itself? He wanted to twine his fingers in the exposed cables, pull them downward in intimate caress, and mouth the end of the Seeker’s elegantly whorled thrusters. He wanted to lick and nibble until Skywarp moaned. He wanted to see the jet’s face from over the rim.

He’d frozen mid-flinch, keeping his shoulders hunched in preparation. Prisoners waiting for condemnation expected more mercy than him. A roiling hatred for Ratbat and irrepressible lust collided between mind and body and fell like a wave of heat down the inside of his chest plate. It was a sick, filthy sensation that he never, ever wanted to experience. Yet at the same time, it was silky as an oil spill and hotter than a sheet of fire, and he never wanted it to end.

It all flashed persistently through his head, and cringing humiliation at his continued perversion compacted in his throat over his vocalizer. It sat there like a lump of lead. 

Frenzy stared mutely up Skywarp, waiting for judgment, and part of him secretly anticipated the kick he knew Skywarp was going to aim his way.


	6. Frenzy (Win)

**Motivation (Prompt):** _Win_

 

[* * * * *]

The civilian swiveled in his seat, speaking up in the sudden, waiting silence. “Yes, he does have a good set, doesn’t he?”

A more offhanded comment couldn’t have been made. Skywarp blinked as the engineer slid his open thrusters around. The civilian calmly shifted the Seeker’s legs from one side of his lap to the other, trapping them in place with a hand securely wrapped around an internal strut. He gave Skywarp no warning or chance to fight back before he tugged, and the Seeker yelped as he struggled for balance on his chair. Having his legs raised took any leverage he had away, and Skywarp scrambled at the armrests. While the jet was floundering about trying not to get dumped onto the floor, the engineer beckoned Frenzy closer. 

The Cassetticon didn’t seem to have any way to stop himself from obeying the gesture. His optics flickered from Skywarp’s flailing to the _gorgeous_ feet being presented to him. It wasn’t like he could get any more embarrassed, right? For Primus’ sake, half of the party was watching, too, observing Skywarp’s flustered efforts to sit up with amusement. Laughter rippled through the room. Frenzy might as well get his jollies in before the laughter turned on him. 

“Did you see the air ionizer? My design incorporates a magnetized element clip to filter out the heavy atmospheric metals. The clip scrapes down into this trap here when the air pressure is sufficient…” A delicate line traced over the clip, holding Frenzy’s fascinated attention. A funny fizzling sound came from Skywarp as the Seeker finally caught his balance. “It affects drift velocity, of course, having another filter in the way of ion flow, but the total voltage is boosted by the circular nature of the metal trap. See here?” Wires were picked out of a coil and firmly tapped to ensure that the Cassetticon knew what he was talking about. 

Skywarp’s vocalizer, readied for the hot-headed tirade Frenzy had been dreading a moment ago, squeaked into emergency cut-off. Alternate modes were always sensitive until a Cybertronian’s core build adjusted to the new sensor network. Changing a single plate of armor rearranged the entire grid of cables and hinges for a transformation sequence, and therefore the whole interwoven web of wiring and fuel lines had to be rerouted. Taking a new alternate mode sent a mech’s body into temporary overdrive. Half the reason the ‘invading’ Decepticon soldiers were intent on partying instead of working was because it gave them an excuse to let their bodies settle down into normal parameters. 

Skywarp’s body had not settled. Not yet. The repairwork had already been doing some, ah, shivery things to his sensitive internal systems. This…was not repairwork. 

The black-and-purple Seeker involuntarily tried to kick. The engineer made a displeased moue and popped him behind the knees. The joints unlocked, and only Skywarp’s wings clonking into the armrests saved him from a sudden introduction to the floor. The room giggled. Even Thundercracker snorted, covering laughter with a cough. Skywarp scowled up at him, opening his mouth again to tell the whole fragging world what he thought of this slag -- but a gasp came out instead. Thundercracker stared, surprised, as his wingmate arched. 

The engineer smiled wickedly and stroked a second, lingering finger down the ion accelerator. Frenzy wasn’t the only mech gaping appreciatively at Skywarp’s wide optics and tensed, shaking body. 

He might have been the only one watching the civilian’s hands just as attentively. The thumbs were rubbing small circles down the seals on the fuel lines; Skywarp’s pelvic frame, suspended between straining back and thighs, twisted in unconscious echo of the motion as each flexible ridge was thumbed. Skywarp’s face was locked in a tormented grimace echoed by the hands clawing into the chair. Pleasure so unexpected it bloomed intense as pain up his legs pinned the Seeker in place. Thundercracker looked almost impressed. 

“Good set,” the engineer repeated, crooning just a little patronizingly. “ **I** would know. I designed them, after all. I know exactly what they can do.” He raised an optical ridge at the goggling Cassetticon and tweaked his way down the wire web connected to the inner layer of armor, ostensibly checking the leads but in actuality just making Skywarp thrash and whimper. “And what I can do to them,” he said in cruelly purring undertone.

“Nice set of feet,” the civvie finished. He gave the open thrusters a pat and pushed them off his lap. “They should be operational now. Let me know if there are any further problems.” A bland smile goodbye, and the engineer walked away. 

Some of the surrounding mechs turned to watch him go, but the civilians were apparently used to his antics. He vanished into the party as quickly as he’d appeared. The rest of the observers watched as Skywarp slumped in his seat, legs still lewdly butterflied open but feet planted on the floor. He panted air through his intakes and dimmed his optics. A few daring mechs chuckled at his discomfiture.

Thundercracker eyed him appreciatively. For all that he didn’t get the whole _liking feet_ thing, he had to admit that…whatever that was…had been smoking hot. Frenzy still gawked at the open thrusters like he saw a never-ending fount of high-grade flowing inside. A tiny twinge of what could have been revelation dinked into the back of Thundercracker’s mind. He’d never really thought about it, but mechs went for the Seekers because of their wings a lot of the time. Feet weren’t all _that_ different. Maybe. 

He didn’t want to think about it. The whole thing left him uneasy, and he didn’t want to think about it further. Let the pipsqueak Cassetticon like feet. What did he care? “I suppose that means you’re off the casualty list,” he said at his wingmate, aiming for neutral and ending up with a questioning note in his voice. 

Skywarp roused himself enough to aim a slightly bleary glare in his direction. It bounced off armor developed through eons of experience putting up with Starscream, who had mastered a glare with far more evil and screech behind it. Stymied arousal just didn’t have the necessary firepower to melt a hole in Thundercracker’s head. 

The bounced glare landed on Frenzy. The little Decepticon glanced up, licking his lips and swallowing without thinking at the sight of Skywarp’s hazy desire. At this distance, they could both hear each other’s systems laboring. Skywarp, at least, had an excuse. Frenzy fidgeted.

Skywarp’s optics sharpened, considering his options. There was a fit of rage, which was a fairly good option; loud, guaranteed to humiliate Frenzy into a steaming puddle, and it would serve as a mediocre release valve on what Skywarp felt right now. Option #2 was storming out in a huff, which probably wouldn’t do his own reputation any good. He could try finding the engineer and demanding the mech finish what he’d started, but that option would probably lead to a messy confrontation. What Skywarp had in mind wasn’t exactly diplomatic, and it would likely push guest rules here on Pentayear. 

Or there was Option #3: he could choose to be flattered. It seemed the wisest choice. Everyone knew that Seekers had the best wings, but feet? Slag, it’d never even crossed his mind. Sort of how he’d never noticed that Frenzy’s hands were so very tiny and capable. They were the kind of hands that could get into every nook and cranny. His optics dropped to them, beginning to take on a covetous gleam. Hands like that, with Frenzy’s own version of motivation behind them, had distinct possibilities. 

Thundercracker sat back in his seat as Skywarp pushed up to his feet. An interlocking series of clicks sounded as his lower legs closed, the complicated apparatus weaving back into heavy bells below the knee. Frenzy watched somewhat mournfully. 

“I’ll update Starscream on my status tomorrow,” the black-and-purple Seeker said cheerfully to his wingmate. “Hey, Frenzy. Heel, boy!”

The Cassetticon did a double-take as the larger Decepticon strode off, snapping his fingers. The onlookers laughed. Frenzy glanced back at Thundercracker, but the Seeker seemed just as shocked as him. After a second’s hesitation -- Skywarp whistled, and half the party laughed uproariously -- an incredulous grin spread across Frenzy’s face. 

He scampered off after those glorious, gorgeous feet suddenly within his grasp, and left his shame behind.


End file.
